For All the Saints

One of the books I received for Christmas is a coffee table book of Christian saints. It's not a book that I would otherwise read (it's too saintly for me, I prefer sinners), but I'm amazed at how many saints there are. There are patron saints for just about everything. Sure, I know some of the big ones (like St. Anthony, who is there to help us sell real estate, I think, and St. Francis, who preached to the squirrels), but other than that, I'm lost.

Still, I can think of other saints, if the church is so inclined to take my demented lead on this one:

St. Wiggie, patron saint of toupees and comb overs.
St. Bob, patron saint of all Roberts.
St. Chelsey, patron saint of college students who live off their parents' dime.
St. Logan, patron saint of messy fifteen year olds with skid marks.
St. Todd, patron saint of blogging and jelly-filled donuts.
St. Fay, patron saint of phone calls and answering services.
St. Michelle, patron saint of Duke basketball.
St. Yukon Cornillius, patron saint of claymation Christmas movies.
St. Comet, patron saint of all-purpose scouring powders.
St. Andrew . . . no, wait, there really is a saint Andrew and he was crucified sideways and I don't want that to happen to any Andrew I know, so let's move on . . . .
St. Becky, patron saint of all pastor's spouses and all who must listen to a sermon four times each weekend.